


What Happens in Vegas

by audreycritter



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: BatCat, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hotel Rooms, Light Romance, Mentions of alcohol, Rating: PG13, au marriage maybe, mostly just people bantering tbh, no profreading we die like mne, no smut/graphic content at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 01:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/pseuds/audreycritter
Summary: A ridiculous piece of self-indulgent Batcat fluff written for a friend.Bruce and Selina get married, but they aren't exactly a traditional couple.





	What Happens in Vegas

It was close to two in the morning when the hotel door shut with a resounding click, and the metallic twang of the second latch being flipped into place sounded across the room.

It was a little after three in the morning when Selina Kyle– Selina Wayne, actually– yawned while huddled beneath the silky hotel sheets.

“I’m so drunk,” she complained, curling up against Bruce’s side. “And it’s freezing in here. Did you crank up the A/C?”

He mumbled something sleepily while she rested her arm across his chest and tilted her wrist up at an angle to study the diamond-inset band on her finger.

Other couples getting married spur of the moment might buy pawnshop rings or cheap drugstore imitations, but Bruce was the sort of person who could just walk into an actual jewelry store on a whim and say, “I’ll take that one.”

She had slipped two others into her pocket while he paid and then while they chatted with the salesclerk, Bruce had slipped them back out. She’s still not sure how he got them back into the case without being noticed and it’s going to annoy her for months, but it’s just an opportunity to improve.

“Did you say something?” he asked, turning his head toward hers and yawning.

“The air. You turned up the air and it’s frigid. How do you live like this?”

“No, the other thing,” he mumbled into her hair, shifting his weight to wrap his arms around her. One was awkward to lay across, the one underneath, and a second later he pulled it back and grabbed her hand to hold it. “Drunk. You’re not drunk. We wouldn’t have done this if we were drunk. I wouldn’t have.”

He was spinning the ring on her finger, a little absently, and sounded mostly asleep again. She leaned her head back and put a hand on his face and patted his cheek.

“Hm?”

“We were a _little_ drunk,” she insisted. “A little bit.”

His eyes flew open, as if he was startled, and he met her gaze.

“We were a little drunk,” he repeated, as if confirming.

She grinned, a lopsided, affectionate thing, and kissed his chin.

“Damnit,” he muttered.

“You don’t regret it, do you?” Selina asked, trying to keep the edge of fear out of her voice. It didn’t mean much, it wouldn’t change much, it was just a stupid, silly fling with adventure of a kind, but it still surprised her now to realize how much his regret could hurt her. And knowing she’d left herself unguarded was a rather bitter pill.

His arm tightened around her and he kissed her brow. “No. I don’t. I was thinking clearly about you. But my judgement of the peripheral details was possibly…impaired.”

“You say such lovely things,” Selina teased, at ease again, at the sincerity in his tone. She loved it, loved knowing how much in some ways it was just hers and not anyone else’s. “We could have spent more time decorating, I just didn’t know you cared.”

He tucked his face against her shoulder and laughed, a deep and shaking sound.

“Not the flowers, Selina. I don’t give a damn, even if I do prefer lilies to the carnation monstrosity they had– never mind. I meant Al. He’s going to kill me. Maybe both of us.” He sighed and she laughed right back at him.

“You _do_ care about the flowers. I’m sorry we didn’t have a church wedding with lilies and Alfred’s consent.”

“The carnations are garish. You can’t possibly believe out of all the flowers–”

“Bruce.”

“–that they’re not tacky as a wedding flower. It’s the classic prom flower, it’s juvenile as hell, and–”

“Bruce.”

“–lilies, even roses or gardenias, would be classier and less–”

She gave up trying and stopped him with a kiss instead. He didn’t resist and when she pulled back a few seconds later, she tapped a finger on his lips.

“I think you’re still a little drunk.”

“If I told you I changed the thermostat so you’d stay close for warmth, would you believe me?”

“No,” Selina got up, taking the blankets with her, wrapped around her less like a flattering robe and more like a makeshift and misshapen parka. She stumbled on an edge of trailing sheet and caught herself, and set her posture in elegant defiance of his muffled half-laugh. She didn’t look back once while gliding (more stumbling) across the room to turn the air conditioner down. She knew her figure was already a bit ruined by the lumps of blanket she was clutching around her like she was stranded in the arctic. “Sixty two, Bruce? Really?”

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he answered as if he hadn’t heard, in a hushed tone.

Selina did turn then, to see him propped on one elbow regarding her seriously from across the room.

“You already caught me,” she said, somewhere between wary and playful. She wasn’t sure which she wanted to be.

“I’m always going to be chasing you,” he said, matter of fact. “I don’t think I could keep you if I tried.”

Selina waited a second, bundled in the blankets on the smooth hotel carpet, to decide if he was joking or not. But his expression didn’t waver and she slowly walked back toward the bed.

“So, what’s all this, then? What happened tonight?”

“You let me catch you,” he answered, when she closer. She climbed into the bed beside him and spread the blankets out over both of them again. His arm went back up around her shoulders. “And how long you stay caught is up to you. It always has been. I’d be a fool to try to take your freedom.”

“That’s awfully modern of you,” Selina said mildly, holding his arm in place with one of her own arms.

“I’m not really much of a traditionalist,” Bruce said. “But when we wake up in the morning, I’m not going to regret this. Keep the paper. You might need it someday.”

She kissed his arm because it was closest, the dark hairs along his forearm tickling her face.

“Our secret?” she asked, glancing at her ring again.

“Our secret,” he yawned.

“I love secrets,” she said, a bit stupidly but also delighted. His talk of the coming morning hadn’t filled her with quite as much dread as she’d been braced to feel. “It’s perfect.”

“The perfect crime,” he mumbled, nuzzling his face into her hair and leaving it there. His breath was hot on her scalp through the short, pixie-length hairs. “I knew what I was doing. I love you, Cat.”

“Love you, Bat,” she said softly, in return, pulling his arm more tightly around her. It was already warmer in the room.

“I’m gonna kick off the blankets,” he warned.

“I’ll shove you off the bed,” she threatened.

“Hm,” he said, a small noise of content disagreement. She could tell he was fading fast and she was getting sleepy, too.

“We’ll come back in a few years, bring lilies, bring Alfred, renew our vows,” she said, stifling a yawn.

“Perfect,” he agreed.

Six hours later, they woke up, ordered room service for breakfast, and ate without really getting out of bed. She sipped coffee with a blanket around her shoulders and he did the crossword puzzle in the complimentary newspaper while eating toast.

They didn’t leave for two more days.

There was no fight, no explosion, only fond and lingering kisses at the airport before they boarded separate flights. Selina waited until she could see Gotham out the window before she tugged the ring off and tucked it into an envelope with the marriage certificate.

That night, he found her on a rooftop outside of a museum and kissed her again five buildings later when he caught up to her.

She left town for a while with the memory of that kiss, earnest and longing, seared in her mind. It was a good feeling to leave on.

* * *

“Are you ever going to settle down? Get married?” Clark Kent moved a chess piece as he asked. He hadn’t really been afraid of offending Bruce, and they had been talking about his own anniversary plans with Lois so it wasn’t without context, but Bruce was quiet for so long Clark began to grow worried. He resisted the desire to squirm.

Bruce leaned forward and slid a bishop across the board and took Clark’s remaining rook. The twist of his mouth was a little wry, a sort of dry humor that relieved Clark’s tension but then made him nervous he’d already lost the game. He studied the layout of the board to try to find his weak spots.

“I am married,” Bruce said quietly, just as Clark set a finger on a pawn. He was so startled the pawn toppled over under his touch.

“What?”

“Married. You can’t tell anyone. I got married to Selina in Vegas in ‘97.”

“In ‘97?” Clark choked out, leaning back away from the board, the game abandoned for the present moment. “You were, what, twenty three in ‘97?”

“Four,” Bruce corrected automatically. “We never got it annulled. Never signed divorce papers.”

Clark narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

In response to this, Bruce showed no mercy or sign of mirth. He even shrugged.

Realization dawned on Clark and he moved a pawn in angry, thoughtless retaliation.

“I can’t even ask anybody.”

There was a hint of a real smile on Bruce’s face, which was confirmation enough. Or maybe Clark had just left his last knight wide open, it was hard to say.

“I did ask you not to,” Bruce acknowledged. “I’m trusting you with it.”

“Son of a gun,” Clark breathed, taking the chance to put Bruce’s king in check. It wouldn’t last but it was nice to be close to victory, even briefly. “It’s not fair when you start throwing around words like Trust. It’s emotional manipulation, is what it is, and you know I’ll fall for it.”

“Or it’s trust,” Bruce chuckled. “And I’m just telling you the truth.”

Clark Kent squinted at him and peered over his useless glasses. “Someday, I’m going to figure out how to tell when you’re lying, and it’s going to be a good day.”

“Check mate,” Bruce said, setting his bishop on a square. “New game?”

* * *

Upstairs, a lily sat on Bruce’s bedside table with a note tied to the stem.

_Back in town. Will leave window unlocked, make it easy on you. 10pm._


End file.
